


The Deputy Commissioner's Office

by Esteliel



Category: Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Breaking into Gleb’s office didn’t feature particularly high on Dmitry’s list of things to do if you wanted to escape the Deputy Commissioner’s notice, but this time, it couldn’t be helped.





	The Deputy Commissioner's Office

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mystarsandmyocean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystarsandmyocean/gifts).



Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov’s office wasn’t as well guarded as one might expect.

At least, it wasn’t if one was coming in through the window, scaling the wall outside with the help of a rather fragile-looking drainpipe.

Any other man would’ve abandoned the plan as insane—but Dmitry, once he’d decided on a plan of action, was as stubborn in his own way as Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov was rumored to be.

For that exact reason, Dmitry had made a study of how to stay out of the man’s notice, and—once that was no longer feasible given his and Vlad’s notoriety—of how best to escape his spies.

Breaking into Gleb’s office didn’t feature particularly high on Dmitry’s list of things to do if you wanted to escape the Deputy Commissioner’s notice, but this time, it couldn’t be helped.

When Gleb had searched their hideout in the Yusupov Palace, he hadn’t found them. They’d safely gotten away, even Anya. But Gleb had found the music box and confiscated it. And how was their plan to succeed without it?

_Who knows if it’s even real..._

But Vlad had an eye for such things, and Dmitry, who’d learned many a useful trick from the old con, knew that there’d been a kernel of truth in what that street vendor had proclaimed. Genuine Romanov? Perhaps not. But it had once belonged to some sort of spoiled princess, and it would hopefully give them enough credibility to get them close to the Dowager Empress.

And once they’d made it there, there’d be other ways for Anya to charm her…

_Where can it be?_

Gleb’s office was a dour place—just as he’d expected. He hadn’t expected quite so many shelves full of files and papers. Just how many spies had Gleb working for him?

_Half the city, by the looks of it._

Dmitry snorted, then made himself focus. He had to get out of here, and quickly. Someone might come in at any moment. And it wouldn’t surprise him at all if it turned out that Gleb slept in his office, too…

Hastily, Dmitry began with Gleb’s desk. It was large, made of heavy, polished wood. Dmitry wrinkled his nose.

_So much for equality…_

There probably wasn’t much hope that Gleb had just shoved it into one of his drawers. By the looks of the impeccably clean office, it had been filed away as soon as Gleb returned. Still, they needed it back, and they couldn’t very well ask for it.

The first drawer held nothing but a pile of paper and an assortment of pens, pencils and stamps. The second drawer held several folders and letters. Could there be a clue as to where the information about their hide-out had come from?

The prostitutes, Dmitry then thought. No, he didn’t need any incriminating letters. They’d been quite mad when they left—well, perhaps he’d taken his jokes too far.

He bit back a grin when he thought about their lack of acting abilities. On the other hand, everything he’d said had been the absolute truth…

Then he straightened, forcing himself to focus as he continued to rifle through the bottom drawers. These were larger; the one on the left held a filing system. For a moment Dmitry’s hands paused as a found a file with his name on it. But it was too small to contain anything but notes on him.

He made a mental note of the number on it—perhaps there’d be a similarly numbered shelf in one of the many cabinets that lined the room. And if he couldn’t find the music box there…

No, he couldn’t give up, not now, when he’d come so far. It was a mad plan—but it was the only plan he had that would take them out of Russia. They had to get it back. They needed some sort of trinket—and the music box had been the only thing on the black market in weeks that had been even halfway genuine.

Determined, he pushed the drawer close again. He flinched at the sound it made—he’d been more forceful than intended, and the sound echoed weirdly in the deserted office.

With his heart racing, he listened for long, precious seconds—but everything remained silent.

A moment later, this time careful to not make a single sound, he drew open the drawer on the right side of the desk.

He exhaled in disappointment. More files, all methodically sorted, not a single file out of place. With a groan of frustration, he gently hit his head against the desk—and then froze. From this angle, he could see that there was a small, narrow shelf at the back of the drawer, situated above the filing system he’d pulled out.

There was a picture there of an older soldier, which he discarded, and a gun, which he eyed thoughtfully before his eyes suddenly widened. There was some sort of shape at the back of the shelf, hidden in the shadows. He couldn’t make out exactly what it was—but it was about the right size for the music box…

His fingers trembling, he drew it out of the drawer. The air escaped his lungs in a triumphant gasp.

There it was: the music box he’d found on the black market, a pretty little trinket of painted porcelain.

He shook it carefully, but there was no rattling sound inside. Good. Nothing seemed to have come loose. He hadn’t figured out how to open it yet—but now was not the time. They’d crack it eventually. They’d have a very long train ride to figure it out, after all.

Hastily, he pulled off his scarf and wound it around the music box, then stuffed it into his coat. Again he eyed the pistol, but then made himself close the drawer carefully. Stealing the music box was one thing. Anyone in this building could’ve done it. But if he tried to sell Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov’s gun on the black market, he might not even make it to the train.

Now all that was left was to get back down that fragile pipe again, and they’d be as good as on their way…

The door to the office flew open just as Dmitry reached the window.

For a heartbeat, he and Gleb found each other standing face to face, the thief and the officer, staring at each other. No one moved. Dmitry’s heart was pounding in his throat.

Then Gleb smiled and raised his hand.

_Oh shit._

Another gun. Of course Gleb had another gun, Dmitry thought, staring wide-eyed at the barrel. Cold sweat was running down his back. He was terrifyingly aware of the drop behind him. He’d climbed two stories to get in. But with Gleb standing in the door, armed with a gun, the window was the only way of escape left…

“You,” Gleb said, a small smile appearing on his face, although his eyes were very cold as he looked Dmitry up and down. “I should have known it. I knew you were up to something, even though you were out when we raided your nest in the Yusupov Palace.”

“You know nothing about me,” Dmitry said with more bravado than he felt—but as long as Gleb wanted to talk, he wouldn’t shoot.

_Keep him talking._

“Wrong.” Gleb’s smile widened. Unfortunately his grip on his gun didn’t falter. “I know everything about your little ploy. You charmed that little street sweeper. You forced an innocent girl to take part in your subterfuge. I’m not an unreasonable man, Dmitry. I can see that she has nothing to do with your little con. She thinks it’s just playing pretend—a dream of diamonds and gowns. But it’s a dream that'll lead her to her death.”

“You don’t want that,” Dmitry said, his mouth dry as he stared at Gleb. “You _like_ her.”

Gleb, to his credit, didn’t flinch at his words or deny them violently, as most other men would have.

“Maybe,” Gleb said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not unreasonable—but I’m also not stupid. I know my duty to my country. And if you continue like this, you’ll both die. By my own hand, if necessary.”

Dmitry licked his lips. If he tried to race past Gleb, he’d be dead as soon as he took the first step. He’d never make it out of the door. Which left the window.

One could survive that sort of fall. And there was the pipe, windowsills, curtains. With luck on his side, he’d find a handhold even as he fell.

It wasn’t much—but it was more of a chance than what the barrel of the gun pointing at him offered.

“There’s no need for that,” Dmitry said again, trying to prolong what time remained to him.

Anya was the man’s weakness. Who’d have thought… perhaps Deputy Commissioner Gleb Vaganov had a heart after all. Only he’d found out at possibly the worst moment possible. And right now, he couldn’t think of a way to use it to his advantage…

“Isn’t there?” Gleb said. “You broke into my office. It doesn’t even matter why. We’ve got all the information on you we need. You were a dead man even before you came here. And in fact, now that you’ve saved me the effort of sending out my men to go after you, I think you’ve actually done me more of a favor than you know.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Dmitry asked, using his fingers to feel for the windowsill behind him.

“If you’re dead,” Gleb said, “your little plot is over, and Anya is safe from your dangerous ideas. Which means I won’t have to arrest her.”

His eyes narrowed a little. The gun didn’t tremble as he pulled the trigger—as if Dmitry’s life was truly of no more worth than that of a rat.

Dmitry threw himself out of the window just in time for the bullet to hit the frame instead of his head.

And then he fell.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Even as he rapidly dropped towards the ground, he struggled in the air, his hands frantically grabbing for anything that might halt his fall. Once, his hands slapped against a windowsill and he desperately tried to grab hold of it, but he couldn’t hold on. He was still falling, falling, falling…

And then he hit the ground.

It took him a long second to realize that he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even in pain…

He raised a hand, staring at it in confusion. A second later, someone shouted in encouragement, and there was a sound of a whip cutting through the air.

From the window above him, Gleb’s head appeared, his satisfaction turning into a mask of surprise and anger—but then whatever Dmitry had landed on exploded into rapid motion, rattling across the bumpy street as the face of the Deputy Commissioner looking after him quickly became smaller and smaller. Once more, there was the sound of a shot being fired, but this time, the bullet harmlessly hit the road in the spot they’d left behind seconds ago.

With a groan, Dmitry twisted around and found himself staring at a heap of straw. Something tickled his nose, and he sneezed violently. When he shakily raised himself to his hands and knees, he saw that by some stroke of luck, he’d landed in the back of a wagon transporting straw.

“Did you get it?” an impatient voice asked. “Did you? Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Dmitry blinked, then shook his head. But the vision didn’t leave. It wasn’t a farmer driving the wagon—it was Anya! Anya, who swung the whip as if she’d been born to it, encouraging the horse to traverse the streets of Petersburg at breakneck speed.

For a long moment, he stared at her open-mouthed. Something about the sight of her standing there with her face lit by the sun seemed to wake a forgotten memory within him. Her eyes were steely with determination, and she looked strangely graceful and utterly without fear…

Then they turned another corner at such speed that one of the carriage’s wheels lifted off the ground.

“Careful!” he shouted as he grabbed onto the side of the wagon. “You’ll get us all killed like this!”

“I know what I’m doing!” she shouted back. “Unlike you. Idiot! Who breaks into the Deputy Commissioner’s office?”

They raced around another corner, and Dmitry bit back a reply as he clutched at the railing for dear life.

Then, blessedly, the wagon slowed and finally came to a stop. Dmitry groaned, then quickly rolled off it when Anya slapped the wood near his head.

“Where’d you get this?” he asked as he eyed the exhausted horses, his knees still wobbly.

“Stole it,” she said promptly. “Now hurry up. I got us as close to the station as I could. Vlad is waiting with a change of clothes for you. We’ve got ten minutes before it leaves.”

“Ten—” He bit back a reply as he hastily began to brush the straw from his clothes.

It was probably for the best. Perhaps this way, Gleb would be too late. It would take him a while to gather his men to come after them—and then, he didn’t know that they’d headed straight for the train.

“You didn’t break it, did you?” Anya asked as she waited impatiently.

It took a moment until he realized what she was talking about. Then he hurriedly pulled it out of his coat. It was still wrapped in his scarf, and when he pulled the fabric away, he breathed a sigh of relief. The music box was whole, without a single scratch on it.

“Here,” he said as he handed it to Anya. “It’s yours now. Don’t drop it,” he admonished as her fingers curiously ran around its rim.

She ignored him. “How do you open it?”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to—”

There was a clicking sound as she did something with her fingers. Then the lid of the box opened, and music began to play, a soft melody reminiscent of a lullaby as the two dancers twirled gracefully.

“How did you _do_ that?” he asked, staring open-mouthed.

Anya was still gazing at the little dancers. She appeared not to have heard him. There was a strange light in her eyes he hadn’t seen before, her lips moving softly. For long moments, she watched the dancers, and when she finally met Dmitry’s eyes, there was nothing of the street brat in her gaze.

For a heartbeat, everything seemed to fall away. Dmitry thought of another carriage—white and gold, it had been. There had been no straw. But there had been a princess, perhaps eight years old—a princess who had looked at him, her eyes seeing _him_ , Dmitry, the street rat.

She’d smiled at him…

“ _Dim as an ember..._ ” Anya murmured, her eyes strangely distant, as though she wasn’t looking at Dmitry, but at the boy he’d been long ago.

Then there was a loud sound coming from just around the corner before them. Dmitry flinched. It was a warning: the sound of a train releasing steam, ready to depart.

Anya gasped and closed the music box, hastily shoving it back into her coat. “Hurry up!” she said. “It’ll leave in a few minutes!”

Anya ran off towards the corner, to all appearances ready to leave him behind if he couldn’t make it in time—but there at the corner she hesitated, turning around to look at him again, and for some reason Dmitry couldn’t name, he suddenly found himself bowing.

For a moment, their eyes met once more. Anya’s eyes were wide, staring at him as if she’d seen a ghost—but then the train’s whistle sounded again, and Dmitry started.

“Hurry up,” he shouted now, “we can’t miss it, it’s the last one.”

When he made it to the corner, he reached out to grab her hand. Despite the cold, her hand was warm in his, and she didn’t let go, even when there was a shout behind them. Hand in hand, they ran towards where Vlad was waiting for them—and the future with him.


End file.
